


Hopes for dreams and dreams for plans

by Lia_Lia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 14:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19359298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lia_Lia/pseuds/Lia_Lia
Summary: Seamus has been waiting outside King Cross for two long years





	Hopes for dreams and dreams for plans

Seamus climbed to his couch again, careful not to stain the cushions with his freshly painted toes nails. The day has been long, boring and he couldn’t help but feel pathetic. He had to do something, and that something ended up being painting his nails. Nothing to be proud of, or excited about. Or planned. But he had to busy his mind for at least sixty seconds or else he was going insane.

He hadn’t get out of his flat, as it has been raining all day, thunderstorms never too far. He hadn’t dressed, nor showered. There was no use in wasting his energy in something as useless. No one was going to see him, not today. He would have plenty of time to take care of his personal hygiene another day. Probably one where he’ll have to go class. His potions exams were coming soon and he would not be able to make thing blow anymore if he didn’t graduate. But right now he didn’t care.

Right now he couldn’t help but feel pathetic and sorry for himself.

He accio-ed some snacks and switch on his telly, but nothing caught his attention. He couldn’t stop walking to the window, and watch the rain poured hard.

If only.

It was already passed midnight but sleep didn’t seem to have pity and come to end his day. He knew he’ll have to wait a few more couple hours before welcoming it. It was always the same. Some days he was really okay, but some days he wasn’t at all, and those days were always the same. Couch, telly, comfort food, window and staring at his phone, waiting for anything, anyone, to text him.

He knew he could just text someone. But it wouldn’t be the same. They’ll meet at the Leaky and he would feel ok again. But then he will come home alone, and he’ll feel shittier than before.

Two years had almost passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and so many things had changed.

People around him were building their life. Hermione and Ron had moved on together since a few weeks, Luna and Ginny were living another crazy adventure somewhere in South America, since the Quidditch season wasn’t there yet and Harry was apparently madly in love with Malfoy, making friends with Slytherin. Hopefully Neville was single, too. But he seemed happy that way, growing plants on Hogwarts’s grounds, studying botanic as everyone knew he will.

He felt like he was the only one still suffering.

The role had been reversed, back in 8th years. They all had ghosts in their eyes but he made them laugh, sneaking George’s tricks and treats inside their shared common room. When Harry woke up screaming every night, he was laying against Dean, making sure to wake him up at any sign of nightmares. When Ginny and Ron fought about any and every Burrow related things, he exploded little snitches above their head, illuminating them in blooming colours. When Luna’s smile had been missing for too long, or when she was too quiet, he tried to Transfigured his surrounding into flowers -as they often blew, he didn’t try to turn them into animal, Luna seemed to love the petals rain, but being sprayed in a mix a blood and glass?

But when Harry’s nightmares started fading, Dean’s too; and as Malfoy was invited in Harry’s laps, Dean started to need more space. When Ginny and Luna started fixing their mutual fallen pieces, and Hermione embraced Ron, they forgot about the shining rains.

And at the end of the years, they were all smiling and laughing in the common room. Some days were bad, and there were still crying and broken glasses, and hopefully these days became fewer.

At the end of the year, Seamus listened to all of his friends sharing their plans for the future and Dean announced he had been accepted to a muggle Art school in France. But he hadn’t been told beforehand. Thus he listened to his friends congratulating him, a fake smile plastered on his face, repeating how proud and happy he was for his lover of always.

At the end of the night, he had grouped them all in a hug and swore to stay friends, dazed on firewhiskey.

Two years later, he still felt the sting on his chest whenever he reunited with his friends, who have all saw their plans come true.

Because his hadn’t.

He may be studying potions and alchemy, blowing things up for presentations and sciences, but he hadn’t planned to come home alone every days.

He hadn’t planned on feeling a whole in his chest every time he would lock his front door. He hadn’t dreamed of lazy Sunday becoming weeks and turning to months.

Because when the war had stopped, he had run across Hogwarts, looking for Dean, feeling his heart stopped every time he saw a body who could’ve been his. But he was alive. He was alive, and the moment he saw him standing felt like the brightest of his life. He had prayed to never fear losing him again.

But he had. Slowly but ineluctably. And his biggest fear had turned into his life.

So two years later, he still welcomed every new days with sorrows, searching through the crowd outside of his window the silhouette of the boy he still loved, but couldn’t love him back enough. Dean had moved to France swearing he would come back, but he never saw him exiting King Cross. He knew he had to let him go, that his best friend had wounds to heal, and that they needed time and distance.

And Seamus wasn’t bitter, he was just sad. A deep and overwhelming sadness than no blowing could ever lighten. The sadness of a boy whose first lover has been destroyed by a war and then couldn’t find in himself enough strength for both of us. The sadness of a boy who was once purely happy, glowing and laughing.

He looked down on the street once again then shut his curtains closed. The day has been long enough, it was time to make it ends.


End file.
